


Fallen Idol

by WritingToKeepMySanity



Series: 1899th, Best Care Anywhere [1]
Category: MASH (TV), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Gen, Hurt, Like, aka the MASH au no one asked for, but some OR scenes, not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-02 01:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17255213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingToKeepMySanity/pseuds/WritingToKeepMySanity
Summary: The higher they are, the harder they fall.And unfortunately, Crutchie's going to learn that the hard way.





	Fallen Idol

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pennysparrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennysparrow/gifts).



> for Melissa, who entertains my MASH ideas at midnight ~~more than once~~
> 
> some dialogue and the entire plot stolen from MASH Season 6, Episode 2 "Fallen Idol"

Wounded. 

More wounded. 

Always more wounded.

Jack rolled his shoulders tightly, shifting quickly into doctor-mode, trying not to look at faces of kids younger than Crutchie, even, convinced they was fighting a war worth fighting for. 

It was just easier that way, if he didn’t. 

Which is why when he looked at the kid with the shoulder wound, he didn’t recognize him until he rolled him over to look at his chest.

“Wait, lemme get a look at his chest.” The nurse helped Jack roll the kid over gently, and Jack felt his heart leap into his throat. The young face—barely old enough to have hair on it—was dirty, as was the blond hair falling over his forehead, free from its usual wool cap.

“Oh, god,” he said tightly. “Davey! I needja.”

“I gotta kid here with a belly wound who needs me more,” Davey called back.

“Davey, it’s Crutchie!” 

Jack barely heard Davey’s “Nurse! Pressure here!” before he was by his side, not over the rush of blood in his ears. 

“ _Oy vey_ ,” Davey said under his breath. “Colonel Denton, it’s Crutchie!”

“What did I do?” Jack croaked out, looking helplessly up at Davey. “I sent ‘im into the middle’a the war f’r a _date_ ,” he moaned, his hands still tight over Crutchie’s bandage.

“You didn’t do anythin’,” Davey assured him quickly. “Colonel!”

Denton was by their side a moment later. “Jumpin’ Jehosaphat, how did he get hit?”

“He was on his way to Seoul,” Davey said quickly. “Superficial shoulder wound, maybe some shrapnel in the chest, but we can’t be sure until we get in there and take a look.”

“I’m operatin’,” Jack said immediately, forcefully.

Denton gave him a long look. “I don’t know, Kelly, maybe we should let Reid handle this one…”

“ _I’m_  operatin’ on Crutchie,” he repeated, leaving no room for argument.

Raising his hands a little, Denton said, “You’re the Chief Surgeon. Let’s move, boys and girls.”

 

~*~

 

“I don’t like the sound of that quiet over there, care to let us know what’s going on?” Denton asked, unnerved by the quiet coming from Jack and Katherine’s table. Kelly wasn’t a “by-the-book” surgeon, he was one for cracking jokes and antagonizing Reid or Katherine, making it look effortless as he stitched up soldier after soldier.

It’d been nearly forty-five minutes—an hour? more? time moved differently in the OR—and he hadn’t heard a peep.

He glanced up from his ruptured spleen briefly to see Katherine look up at Jack a moment, before saying over her shoulder, “He’s stable now, Colonel. We’re about to close the chest and then we’ll patch up the shoulder.”

“It looks worse than it is,” Jack added gruffly.

Denton breathed a quiet breath of relief, as Davey let out a delighted laugh. “Hey! I knew nothin’ could keep Crutchie Morris down!”

“Of course not,” Darcy said, a little haughtily. “Even Kelly couldn’t botch a procedure that simple.”

Jack’s fingers tightened around the clamp, just slightly, and if she hadn’t worked at his side for the better part of a year and a half, Katherine wouldn’t have noticed.

“Darcy?”

“Hm?”

“Close your mouth before I suture it shut for you,” she said, sickeningly sweet.

Huffing, Darcy said, “Colonel, must I endure this antagonization every time I enter the operating room? It’s bad enough I have to operate in such a primitive workspace—”

“Hey, she’s head nurse,” Denton said, tying a knot in his stitch. “I’m just the guy who pays the bills for your primitive workspace, Reid. Take it or leave it. Cortes, DaSilva, this one’s good to go, where’s my next patient?”

The hustle of the operating room resumed, even Darcy falling quiet after asking his nurse for more three-oh silk, and Katherine glance back up at Jack a moment.

There was little love lost between them, but she didn’t hate the man, and she knew how much Crutchie meant to him. If she was being honest, she was impressed with how well he was holding himself together.

And, she couldn’t tell, what with the mask and all, but she could almost see—very briefly—crinkles at the corners of his eyes, like he might be smiling, before his features smoothed into something neutral.

“Uh, suture, Kath.”

“Yes, doctor.”

 

~*~

 

Jack yawned loudly, a little too loudly, turning into something that definitely wasn’t a yawn, just noise, waking Davey, who’d fallen asleep at the bar.

“Can ya believe it, Dave?” Jack slurred. “I operated on _Crutchie_ , today. Crutchie. An’ I was _nervous_. Even when I was in residency, I wasn’t nervous, but with him, m’hands were shakin’. Ya know?”

“Mmhmm,” Davey said, nodding sleepily. 

“Ya know?” Jack asked louder, clapping his shoulder, shaking him roughly.

Furrowing his brow, Davey said, “Yeah, I know, Jack. I’ve heard this speech three times tonight. I know how it _ends_.”

“How’s it end? I missed the matinee performance.”

Sighing, Davey said, “Ya start crying in your beer an’ sing ‘Over the Rainbow’, can we go home now?”

Halfway to the Swamp, Jack started singing again, loudly, off-tune, and Davey was pretty sure those weren’t the real lyrics.

“ _Funny little bluebirds fly away, oh why oh why oh whyyy…”_

Darcy sat up, eyes burning, as though he could set both Davey and Jack on fire with his gaze. “This is the second time he’s woken me up with that _insipid_  song—”

“‘nsipid?” Jack asked, turning to Darcy, swaying when he moved too fast. “I’ll have ya know, that happens ta be the state song of Iowa, home of Judy Garland, Dorothy, an’ one Crutchie Morris!”

“I _think_ ,” Darcy said bitingly. “The state you’re searching your beer-addled mind for is _Kansas_!”

“Shh,” Jack shushed. “People’re sleepin’, Darce.”

Groaning, he rolled over, pulling his blanket over his head. Davey made sure Jack actually made it on his cot before collapsing himself, praying the war would hold off until at least that afternoon.

 

~*~

 

“ _Attention, all personnel! Wounded arriving by chopper and ambulance! All personnel report to the OR!”_

Moaning, Davey pushed himself up to his elbows, blinking hard to push his headache awake. Coffee. He needed coffee and now.

He was, however, doing much better than Jack, who had groaned and rolled over, pulling his pillow over his head.

Darcy, already buttoned up and tying his boots, looked over to his cot. “Oh no, up and at ‘em, Kelly.”

“Hey, Darcy, he hasn’t dried out yet, let ‘im sleep,” Davey said, pulling on his boots.

“They said _all_  personnel,” Darcy said. “I will not have Colonel Denton rush me through my operations because _he_  decided to go out last night.”

“Aw, buzz off, Darcy!” Jack whined, sitting up quickly and looking green around the gills as he did. “Ohh…”

Davey clapped his shoulder. “Go back to sleep, Jack, I’ll cover for you.”

“No, no, I can go,” Jack insisted, waving a hand. “Just one question.”  
  
“Yeah?”

“Can ya remove the tennis ball from my mouth?”

The operating room was packed by the time they made it over, scrubbing and suiting up quickly off Denton’s look.

Davey was worried Jack wouldn’t be able to hold his own, he was still swaying a bit as he stood at the table. “Hey Jack?”

“Mm.”

“Jack?”

“What?”

“You doin’ okay?”

Jack shook his head. “Can’t talk. ‘m operatin’.” Suddenly, he went as white as his mask, and he stammered out. “I need someone to finish for me.”

“Are you kidding?” Denton asked. “Hold it like the rest of us, Kelly.”  
  
“‘m serious, Colonel. Davey?”

“Can’t, I’m elbow-deep in this belly.”

“Darcy?” Jack asked desperately.  
  
“I don’t see why I should have to finish your operation—”

“You know damn well why!” Davey said. “C’mon, Reid, have a soul.”

Before Darcy could even answer, Jack bolted out the operating room, door slamming against the wall with a _bang_!

“What the hell’s goin’ on with him?” Denton asked.

“We had a bit of a late night… Well.” Davey winced. “Early morning.”

Denton gave him and incredulous look. “He’s still soused?”

Meekly, Davey answered, “Maybe?”

Shaking his head, the colonel flagged down the nearest orderly. “Cortes! Go tell Kelly he has a patient that needs him _pronto_.”

“I, uh, can’t, sir. He’s indisposed.”

“What do you mean?”

The young kid scuffed the floor with his boot. “He’s hangin’ over an oil drum, pukin’.”

“My god—Reid. Finish Kelly’s patient. Cortes, tell him to get back in here as soon as he can.” Denton sighed as the kid scurried away. “I’m getting too old for this.”

 

~*~

 

"I know I don't run the tightest ship around here." Denton was finally winding down after berating Jack. "But I can't have surgeons coming in half-cocked, putting these boys in even more danger. We're here to do a job, and we're going to get it done without incident, do you understand?"

Jack nodded, hanging his head a little. "I understand, Colonel."

Denton sighed, rolling his neck. "Good. Now go on, I have to make a dent in this paperwork if we're gonna stay in business." Nodding again, Jack stood, shuffling out of the office, and Denton couldn't help but feel a little bad. Kelly was a good kid, a little misguided, and he knew, no matter how much any of them hated this place, Jack was a good surgeon and took his job seriously. "Have you been to see Crutchie? He's up and talking now."

Biting his lip, Jack said, "I'll go see 'im when I can screw a smile on."

"Want one of mine? I keep a drawer full of 'em here in the office."

Jack gave him a sort-of weak, half-smile. "That's how ya do it," he said, pushing the door open.

Pausing in the front office, Jack tried to ignore the pit in his stomach, seeing Crutchie's desk and cot, the teddy bear still sitting on his pillow. Looking towards post-op, Jack swallowed his pride and pushed the door open.

Seeing Crutchie lying in the cot, shirtless, IV in his arm, left arm folded over his chest, too much gauze and bandages, almost made him turn around again, maybe ruin his liver with some gin from the still, but Crutchie had already caught his eye over Smalls' shoulder. 

Time to face the music, he supposed. 

Giving Crutchie a cocky grin, Jack put a show of picking up Crutchie's chart, blustering through something about how Crutchie was doing better, looking good, his joke and cheery tone falling flat as Crutchie avoided his eye and Smalls gave him a sympathetic look. 

"I'll see ya 'round kid," he said, patting his arm before standing and giving Jack a wary look.

Jack waited til Smalls had left before saying, "Well, I dunno 'bout you, but I think I did a bang-up on ya bang-up. Even gave ya a lil extra muscle, so ya look good at the beach." Crutchie still wouldn't meet his eyes. "Any discomfort?" he tried again.

"No, sir," Crutchie muttered. 

"Sir? Gettin' a little formal, huh?" Crutchie didn't answer and Jack sighed, sitting on the edge of the cot, checking the bandages. "Can ya do that?" he asked, bending his elbow, folding his arm towards his shoulder. Crutchie copied him without any difficulty. "Good. Anythin' hurtin'?"

Crutchie shook his head again, and Jack shifted awkwardly. "Alright, Crutch. What's up?"

"Cap'n Jacobs said ya had ta stop operatin' yesterday, an' Major Reid had ta finish f'r ya."

"Well, yeah..." Jack said, not really following.

"An' he said ya got sick, an' I was just wonderin' why." Crutchie shifted in the cot, briefly meeting his eyes before darting away again.

Jack shrugged and tried for a blasé answer. "I always wanted ta barf on Uijeongbu, an' I thought it was the right time." Crutchie shifted again, uncomfortably. "What'sa matter? People get sick."

"Yeah, well. Lot'a people don't look at it like ya got sick, Jack," he said desperately, the words pouring out of him. "Some people kinda... look up ta ya, an' maybe... wanna be ya. An' they can't help but feel like ya sorta. Let 'em down."

Jack felt his stomach turn over, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since before he and Davey ended up at Rosie's the night before. He... He couldn't deal with this right now. He was here to do a job, a job he hated for a country that thought it was okay to send young men to war, and one of those young men thought  _he_ was someone to look up to?

Jack was a flirt, a drunk, a troublemaker who wouldn't be anywhere if he hadn't gone to medical school.

Crutchie was a fresh-off-the-farm innocent kid who shouldn't want to be anything like Jack.

"You can't put all that on me," Jack said lowly, standing up. "Do you know how much this place stinks? I hate this place. An' if I can't live up to your satisfaction, then... to hell with it. How dare ya!" he yelled, unaware—or unwilling to see—how the post-op had gone quiet, and Crutchie had turned his head into his pillow, hiding his teary eyes. But Jack continued. "Ta hell with ya Iowa naivety, an' ta hell with ya teddy bear, an' while ya at it, ta hell with  _you_!"

 

~*~

 

"—An' then I was standin' there, watchin' some crazy guy yell at Crutchie." Jack buried his face in his hands.

Davey winced. "Jack, I—"

The door to the Swamp banged open and Denton barged in. "What the  _hell_ is your problem?"

Jack raised his hands. "Colonel, I—"

Denton didn't let him finish. "I no sooner get on to you for one patient, and you go and attack another?"

Katherine barged in before Jack could answer. "What the hell is the matter with you?" she screeched, and Jack winced. When the Major got angry, she got shrill too.

"Just a minute, Katherine, I have something to say on that—"

"You'll get your turn," she said, waving a hand, looking ready to lay into Jack.

"I'll get my  _turn_?" Denton asked, giving her an incredulous look. "I'm the commanding officer!"

Katherine looked properly chastised. "I'm sorry, Colonel, go ahead."

"There is a boy, lying there with tubes running in and out of him," Denton continued as though he hadn't been interrupted. "A boy, fresh out of the cornfield, who looks up to you—"

"Although, why, I'll never know," Katherine added. 

"—And you made him the target of the biggest load of bull, I've ever heard you utter—"

Katherine jumped in again. "And I, for one, have heard you utter  _plenty_."

"Major, I rehearsed this as a solo," Denton said, clear annoyance in his voice.

"And you're doing  _great_ , Colonel, please continue."

Denton gave her a long look before doing just that. "You made him feel no bigger than pimple on a flea, by the very man he looked up to. And I think you ought to do something about it. What do you think?"

Jack finally spoke up for the first time since they came in. "I think you're right," he said, standing up and brushing past Katherine and Denton, clearly shocking them both.

"Wh—" Katherine stammered before throwing her hands up. "I didn't get to say anything!"

Jack stuck his hands in his pockets as he crossed the compound, towards post-op, trying to work out what he was going to say when he saw Crutchie. That was a lot of damage to undo, and he didn't know where to begin. 

He still hadn't figured out what to say when he checked in with the nurse on duty. "How's Crutchie doin'?"

"He's fine. You're not going to talk to him again, are you?" she asked drily, but incredibly seriously. 

Okay. He deserved that. "Nah, I just wanna sit with him, okay?" She eyed him a moment, but nodded, turning back to her paperwork at her desk. Jack made his way over to Crutchie's cot, taking a deep breath before saying, "Crutch—Charlie, I'd like to say 'm sorry."

Crutchie looked up from his comic, eyes flashing. "Oh wouldja?" he asked, heaving himself up off the cot, forgetting for a moment he didn't have his crutch and leaning against the post. "Well you can forget it—just forget it! The hell with  _me_? The hell with you! An' ya know what, anyone who says anythin' 'bout Iowa, betta' be ready ta back it up—I'll give ya a fistful'a Iowa naivety right in the puss!"

He swayed a bit, but just readjusted his grip on the post. "Ya don't gotta tell me what's what. I already know what's what! So why don't'cha crawl back in ya bottle'a booze an' pickle yaself. Ha!" With that, Crutchie dropped back onto the cot, refusing to look at Jack anymore. 

Nodding slightly, Jack dropped a hand on the post of the bed before turning and leaving.

 

~*~

 

"Hey, kid, how're you feeling?" Denton asked, approaching the cot. 

"Oh, sir, I was just thinkin'a ya. I've been goin' over the duty roster in my head, an' if I had some paper, I might be able to get it out," Crutchie offered. 

Denton waved a hand. "Don't worry about it, son. Smalls can run the office 'til you're back on your feet. I, uh, heard Captain Kelly paid you a visit."

Crutchie nodded a little. "Yes, sir."

"You know, he's fond of you, Crutchie."

His eyes darted to Denton a moment before shrugging a little. "Really, sir?"

"They say time heals all wounds," Denton continued, nodding. "It's true. Maybe next week, you'll see him out, and you'll get to talking about something—the weather, the food, whatever—and you'll realize he's the same man you always looked up to. Maybe you'll even like him more, now that you can see him more eye-to-eye, so to speak."

Crutchie nodded slightly. "I know what'cha mean, sir."

Denton looked a little surprised that his explanation made sense. "Really? Well, good." Patting the young boy's foot, he left Crutchie alone with his thoughts.

A week later, Crutchie had been finally given the all-clear and was taking a walk with one of the wounded soldiers. He didn't realize they were so close to Rosie's until he looked up and saw Jack outside the bar. He held Jack's gaze a moment before Jack ducked her head, entering the bar.

Well, that shouldn't surprise him, he supposed. 

Taking a deep breath, Crutchie said goodbye to Johnson, and ducked into the bar as well. 

"Hey, Rosie," he said, sitting at a table, his back to Jack.

"Hi, Crutchie," she replied cheerily. "Grape Nehi?"

"Uh, yeah, sure." Rosie left to get his soda, leaving Crutchie and Jack alone.

Crutchie rolled over Colonel Denton's words from a week ago in his head. Casually—or as casually as he could—he said, "Weird stretch'a warm weather we's havin', huh?"

Jack almost looked surprised to be addressed, but recovered quickly. "Uh, yeah. Pretty warm."

"An' didja have those sausages at breakfast? They was ice cold." Crutchie was scrambling, but he wanted to get back to normal with Jack.

"Oh, yeah? I didn't have 'em."

"Well, good, 'cause they was cold."

"Mm."

Crutchie couldn't stand the quiet. "Sure is a stretch'a warm weather..."

He heard Jack mutter something before he turned to face him. "Look, kid. I really wanna say 'm sorry. Honestly, this all prob'ly wouldn't'a happened if I didn't feel so guilty f'r gettin' ya hurt in the first place."

Crutchie whipped his head around. "That wasn't your fault!" he insisted.

Jack didn't look too sure, just kind of shrugged. "An', I guess if ya gotta worship the ground I walk on, I can handle that."

"That's okay," Crutchie said carefully. "I'd just as soon not."

Smirking at that, Jack brushed his nose, ducking his head. Rosie approached them then, cutting off their conversation. 

"One Nehi," she set the soda in front of Crutchie. "One beer." In front of Jack.

They sat a moment, with their drinks, before Jack moved his beer to sit in front of Crutchie as he picked up the Nehi and toasted Crutchie with it. Grinning slightly, Crutchie picked up the beer and they gently clinked their bottles together.

 

~*~

 

"Hey, Crutch, are you an' Truman penpals?" Jack asked, entering the office.

"No?" Crutchie turned around, brow furrowed.

Shrugging Jack held up a small box. "I think he's sweet on ya. He's sendin' ya jewelry." Opening the box, he held up a Purple Heart, smiling when Crutchie's eyes went wide and his jaw dropped. "Can I pin it on?"

Crutchie nodded wordlessly, and Jack pinned the Purple Heart to his collar. "Wonder what my ma would say," Crutchie said, looking down at the pin. 

"She'd pro'ly say her little boy's all grown up," Jack said with a smile. "Now there's somethin' else I wanna give ya, kid."

Crutchie looked up a little warily. "Ya ain't gonna kiss me are ya?"

Chuckling, Jack shook his head. "Nah. I wanna give ya this." Straightening his shoulders, Jack saluted Crutchie. Breaking into a grin, Crutchie returned the salute. "Don't get shot again, 'kay, kid?"

He huffed a laugh. "S'probably what my mom'll say."

**Author's Note:**

> first fic of the New Year!!!
> 
> if you know MASH and Newsies, and are curious as to who's who in this story, feel free to come ask me about it!! it stands well enough on its own that I don't think I need to really go into it here, since without knowing MASH, it'd be a bunch of extra information you don't need.
> 
> I will say this: Crutchie Morris and Radar O'Reilly are literally the same person, I had to keep myself from writing "Radar" instead of Crutchie.
> 
> honestly, I don't even know if this is good. but it was fun to write so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Piano man will return!! once I remember how to write assholes Jack and Kath after two months of writing them as sweet parents ;P
> 
> I'd love to know what you think!!
> 
> xx


End file.
